A FAREWELL TO MRS. POLK.

“Lady, farewell! amid the gloom of grief,

How many a heart will utter that sad sound!

Farewell! for thee a thousand hearts will mourn;

So much of friendship lost, of sorrow found.

And thou shalt leave a void in Friendship’s hall,

Where joyous notes were once so wont to rise,

Like that fair Pleiad which forsook its home,

And caused to mourn the sisters of the skies.

But thou must go: yet with thee thou shalt bear

A stranger’s hope upon the distant way,

And only fade to give a calmer day.

A welcome, too, I’d give thee to my home,

My sunny home, the old Palmetto soil;

Where many a heart, all warm and true and kind,

Shall chase away the gloom of travel’s toil.

And may life pass as soft as sunset hour,

When gentle rays gleam on the skies above,

And may each pulse in sweetest union beat

To the soft music of the harp of love.

“CONSTANCY.”

The departure from Washington and return to Nashville was a continued

scene of ovation and triumph. Everywhere along the route, demonstrations

of respect and esteem greeted the distinguished travellers. Arriving at

home, the citizens of Nashville showed them every possible mark of

regard.

Before the expiration of Mr. Polk’s Presidential term, he had purchased

a house in Nashville, from the Hon. Felix Grundy, in the most commanding

position in the city. It was enlarged and ornamented and put in the most

complete and elegant order. Ever since it has been known as “Polk

Place.” The surrounding grounds are tastefully and elaborately arranged

and adorned with flowers and shrubbery. They extend from Vine street on

the east, to Spruce street on the west; and from Union street on the

north, to Polk avenue, which leads from the mansion to Church street, on

the south. The dwelling, is large and imposing, and the grounds ample,

forming one of the most attractive places in the city. This was the

chosen spot for the declining days of the recent occupants of the White

House.

Soon after their return from Washington, the ex-President and his wife

contemplated a tour in Europe; then a much more serious undertaking than

at the present day. He even engaged a courier who could speak and write

French and German, to obviate many difficulties of the journey. But

ill-health and the speedy termination of the statesman’s life, put an

end to the pleasant scheme.

After the death of Mr. Polk, a small but beautiful temple, of native

marble, was erected on the grounds on the eastern front, beneath which

lie the remains of the distinguished statesman. On three sides of a

monument within the temple, there are full and lengthy inscriptions,

recording the principal events of a useful and honored life. The death

of her husband was the only affliction of Mrs. Polk’s life. It had been

invariably calm, cheerful, and happy. “In this great trial and deep

draught of the waters of bitterness, she was sustained and consoled by

the divine principles and precious promises of her religion. She was

enabled by faith to look forward to a reunion in the better land, with

him on whose strong arm she had so long leaned, and to whom her

attachment and companionship had been so dear. She had removed her

membership from the church in Washington, and had become connected with

the First Presbyterian Church of Nashville, of which the lamented Dr.

John T. Edgar was so long the beloved pastor.” The sympathizing

attention paid to Mrs. Polk in her grief was universal. From every lady

and gentleman of her wide acquaintance she received letters of

condolence and consolation.

The study of the President, a large room in the second story, commanding

a view of the Capitol, is kept by Mrs. Polk just as he left it. Here are

his books, his papers, his pen and all the little articles that betoken

an apartment in daily use; as if he had just stepped out and would soon

return. It is kept in order by her own hands.

Such public marks of respect have been shown to Mrs. Polk as it has been

no other American lady’s fortune to receive. Prominent men of all

classes and callings rarely visit the city without paying their respects

to her. It was for years the habit of the Legislature to call upon her,

in a body, on New Year’s Day. Large delegations of Masons, of Odd

Fellows, and of Sons of Temperance, at the various meetings of their

societies, have done themselves the honor to be presented to her.

Numbers of the members of the General Assembly of the Presbyterian

Church have, at different times, visited Polk Place to evince their

sincere respect for her whose life has been so pure and blameless, and

whose Christian character is so shining an example.

During the Confederate days of Nashville, Mrs. Polk received the kind

attentions of the supreme officers; among others of Gen. Beauregard, of

Gen. Breckenridge, and of Gen. Preston. Afterward, Gen. Buell, Gen.

Thomas, Gen. Nelson, Gen. Mitchell, Gen. Crittenden, Gen. McCook, Gen.

Sherman, Gen. Wood, and many others, and staff officers innumerable,

called to pay their duty to the distinguished mistress of Polk Place.

In a letter from a visitor at Melrose, the residence of Mrs. Gov. A. V.

Brown, in the vicinity of Nashville, is the following pleasant

description: “Among the pleasures that we most value and trust never to

lose, was meeting and becoming acquainted, while at Melrose, with one of

Nashville’s most valued residents—Mrs. President Polk. By far the most

interesting spot in that city is Polk Place, this lady’s home, an

elegant and stately erection, the portico of the noblest architecture,

exquisite in design and proportion. The house has large, lofty rooms, a

noble hall, rich in presents received by Mrs. Polk during the

Presidential career of her husband. Among them is a beautiful drawing of

Niagara, a fine oil painting of De Soto, and walking sticks in curious

shapes and of precious-looking wood. Besides these, the walls are hung

with portraits of illustrious men, and fine likenesses of the President,

repeated at different ages. In this cherished retirement, enlivened by

the presence of a sweet little relative, an adopted daughter of Mrs.

Polk’s, men of all parties meet, forgetting their political differences

in social enjoyment.

“But the house, noble as it is, is not the goal of the visitor’s

pilgrimage. As at the Hermitage, the true shrine is to be found in the

shade, the verdure, the fragrance of a sloping garden, amid dazzling

masses of verbena, geraniums, heliotrope and jessamine. In the centre of

this lovely mosaic is a fine monument, erected over the remains of him

whose brief and bright career was cut suddenly short, enriched by an

elegant inscription from Mrs. Polk’s pen; a true and noble record,

honorable alike to the departed and to the survivor. Here, amid the song

of birds and the odor of flowers, we paid willing homage to all that

remained of one who died lamented by his countrymen of every sect and

party.

“His mourners were two parts, his friends and foes. He had kept the

whiteness of his soul, and thus men o’er him wept.

“Meeting Mrs. Polk was like seeing the original of a familiar picture,

and in a few moments after seeing her, we were surprised to find ourself

forgetting, in a confiding feeling, that we were conversing with a lady

who had presided at the Executive Mansion with a wider popularity than

has since been attained by any of her successors. She seems to have a

warm and unenvying sympathy in the success of others, and in her

conversation there is an expression of those affectionate sympathies

which made her beloved in a more elevated sphere. She has a pleasing

figure, what we call lady-like, delicate, erect and graceful, with a

great deal of manner, in the last respect resembling the late Mrs.

Madison. Mrs. Polk’s mental endowments, as well as her personal

qualities, combine to render her a general favorite, while her manners

and character give a permanence to her social success by converting

admirers into friends.”

In a pecuniary point of view, Mrs. Polk’s life has passed in ease and

affluence. Her father was comparatively wealthy, and Mr. Polk’s

circumstances were always good. In addition to his property in

Tennessee, he owned a large and flourishing plantation in Mississippi.

Chief-Justice Catron, Major Daniel Graham and other distinguished

personal friends, have attended to Mrs. Polk’s financial affairs during

her widowhood, and have thus relieved her from all care.

Mrs. Polk, though ever willing to converse, and always enriching the

conversation from her ready store of information and observation, is

remarkably reticent in regard to her own life. Her most familiar friends

fail to persuade an account of incidents relating purely to herself. She

is never seen in public except at church. The visits of chosen friends

are grateful to her, but she does not return them, and no attraction is

sufficient to draw her far away from the home where cluster so many dear

and sacred memories. Occasionally she spends a few days with her

relatives in other counties.

Having no children, Mrs. Polk, some time after the death of her husband,

adopted a niece, who has ever since been an inmate of her house. No

employment could have served better to console the many lonely hours

that must be the inevitable heritage of a widowed heart, than the charge

of a daughter.

Mrs. Polk was born in the dawn of the nineteenth century, and is a pure

type of a class which is rapidly becoming extinct. With her will pass

away many of the excellences and not a few of the foibles of a class

modelled after the aristocracy of the old world on their graftings in

the new. Her life has been spent in an age and country where chivalric

honor to woman is a matter of national pride, yet in a land of slaves

and slavery. The young and middle-aged of to-day will never know the

opportunities of time and means which she, half a century ago, enjoyed;

for the South is changed, and verily old things have passed away and all

are new. The present generation, thrown more upon their own resources,

and passing through the perplexities of change and misfortune, will grow

away from the old regime, and may perhaps lose many of their virtues

with too few of their faults.

During the late civil war, she suffered in common with the people of the

South, losing much of her valuable property, but was fortunately left

with sufficient means to enable her to live in her usual style of

comfort. Her sympathies were with the section of country in which she

was reared, but her conduct was throughout befitting her station, and no

expression or action of hers is a reflection of aught save refined

bearing and high-toned sensibility.

Surrounded with comforts and luxuries, and enjoying the companionship of

her relatives and friends, Mrs. Polk glides calmly down the vale of

years, with the memory of a past all brightness, and the hopes of a

future all peace. The lifetime imitation of a pure and useful standard

of excellence has rewarded her with a glorious fame, and she dwells

among the friends of her youth, honored and respected, trusted and

beloved.

XVI.

MARGARET TAYLOR.

The importance attached to Presidential honors is not in our country the

inheritance of persons born to the wearing of them. Monarchial

governments, by tradition and law, designate not only who is the “chief

magistrate,” but also provide candidates in advance for the succession.

People, therefore, born to such high estate are always, from infancy

onward, objects of world-wide interest; and the minutest acts of their

lives, before they achieve their inherited position as well as after,

are subjects of note from a thousand pens.

In our own country the popular will selects its candidates for the

highest office within its gift as often from those who have suddenly

received popularity as from those who have, by antecedent history,

become known to fame. It is probably true that, just before the breaking

out of actual hostilities between this country and Mexico, there was no

military officer—his long and faithful public service considered—who was

as little known to the country at large as General Taylor.

That the future Mistress of the White House who was buried in the

seclusion of his retired private life, should be little known out of her

domestic circle, is therefore not surprising; and that a family, the

members of which had always courted seclusion and were satisfied with

making perfect the narrow circle of their accepted duties, should shrink

from publicity and notice, is not to be wondered at; and, as a

consequence, there is but little left to afford material for the pen of

the historian.

Mrs. Taylor and her daughter “Betty,” who for a while shone forth as the

acknowledged “first ladies of the land,” never sympathized with the

display and bustle of the White House, and they always performed such

official duties as were imperatively forced upon them, by their exalted

position, as a task that had no compensation for the sacrifices

attending it.

The key to Mrs. Taylor’s life was touched by General Taylor himself,

who, when receiving from an appointed speaker, at Baton Rouge, the

official announcement that he was elected President of the United

States, among other things said:

“For more than a quarter of a century, my house has been the tent, and

my home the battle-field.” This statement, which might have been used

with propriety as figurative language by any officer who had been for

more than a quarter of a century on active duty, was literally true of

General Taylor’s experience. He was emphatically a hard-working officer:

either from choice or accident, his public life was never varied by

those terms of “official repose” which give officers a rest at

Washington, at West Point, or at head-quarters in some large city.

On the contrary, General Taylor, from the time he entered the army as a

lieutenant until he laid aside his well-earned commission as a

Major-General to assume the highest responsibility of Commander-in-Chief

of the Army and Navy, had never been out of what might be termed the

severest frontier duties.

He was known as having acquired the largest experience as an Indian

fighter. He was alike the hero of the “Black Hawk,” as he was the most

prominent officer in the Seminole war. Hence it is that Mrs. Taylor,

more than any other mistress of the White House, had seen more army

service, and passed through more varied frontier experiences; for she

would never, under any circumstances, if she could avoid it, separate

herself from her husband, no matter how severe were the trials resulting

from wifely devotion.

This heroic spirit, that gives such grace and beauty to useful

qualities, carried her cheerfully to Tampa Bay, that she might be near

her husband when he was endeavoring to suppress the wily Seminoles in

the swamps and everglades of Florida; and as the long previous years in

the western country made her familiar with the attributes of savage

triumphs, so the final defeats that eventually secured our settlers a

peaceful home on the rich plains of Mexico, and laid the foundation of

the prosperity of the great West.

In all this quarter of a century so feelingly alluded to by General

Taylor, as the time when his house was a tent and his home the

battle-field, it was seldom that Mrs. Taylor was not at his side,

bearing her share of the hardships incidental to her husband’s life, and

cheerfully attending to the duties which fell to her to perform. All

this while the modest accommodations were acceptable, the log-cabin in

winter, the tent if necessary in summer, with the coarse but substantial

food of the soldiers, and often even this not in abundance. Deprived of

the little elegancies which are so necessary for a woman’s

comfort—separated from the society of her children, who were almost

always away at school—nothing stood in the way of her fealty to her

husband, and she was content thus to live.

Through all these trying circumstances Mrs. Taylor, by her good sense,

her modesty, her uncomplaining spirit, her faculty of adding to the

comforts and surroundings of her husband’s life, filled the measure of

her duty, and set an example of the true woman, especially a soldier’s

wife, that her sex for all time can admire and point to as worthy of

imitation.

Her domestic duties, so far as they related to the comfort of her

family, she would never intentionally abandon for a single day to menial

hands. Especially was she careful in the preparation of the food for the

table, and however simple the meal might be, she saw that the material

was carefully prepared. And this home training General Taylor displayed

when in Northern Mexico, away from his domestic care; for while he was

indifferent to a degree about luxuries, yet what he did eat, he

persisted in having carefully selected and prepared with due regard to

healthfulness; and his tent was ever a model of neatness and rude

comfort.

Mrs. Taylor’s maiden name was Margaret Smith. She was born in Maryland,

and came of a family identified for their substantial qualities which

distinguished intelligent agriculturists. She received such an education

as was at the command of female pupils in the beginning of the century.

An education which considered the practical, rather than the

intellectual, and to this plane of her school life she was trained with

special care in all the accomplishments of domestic duties.

“Maryland housekeeping” was for years in the southwest, and is still

among the “old settlers,” a complimentary remark, if applied to a lady

from any part of the country, so excellent was considered the

housewives’ work of those who learned their duties on the tidewaters of

the Chesapeake Bay, and among those examples of domestic perfection in

her State, Mrs. Taylor was eminent. And to be more than this—to make her

home happy—she evidently had no ambition. Marrying an officer of the

United States army, who was born in Kentucky, and was appointed from

private life, her husband had no associations that took him to the

North, which, independent of official opportunities, are increased by a

student’s career at West Point. “Captain Taylor” was therefore, from the

beginning of his public life, confined to the frontiers, and was known

as one of the “hard-working,” and “fighting officers.” His boyhood days

were made up of adventures with Indians, and around the fireside of his

own home, listening to his father and his father’s friends, talk over

the struggles, sufferings, and triumphs they endured as active

participators in the Revolution, under the leadership of General

Washington and General Wayne, and of their subsequent hard lives after

they left Virginia, to found homes “in the dark and bloody ground.”

To accept with pleasure the incidents of the consequent life was the

true spirit of the American heroine, and to adorn it through long years

of privations and sufferings as Mrs. Taylor did, is the noblest tribute

that can be paid to her virtues. For sixteen years after the conclusion

of our second war with England, the time indicated in history as the

“treaty of Ghent,” Major Taylor spent an active life in what was then

known as our western frontiers. He established forts and corresponded

with the Government on Indian affairs. His custom was to personally

superintend the varied and difficult labors imposed upon him. All this

while he was literally in the savage wilderness, and Mrs. Taylor, then a

young wife, persistently accompanied him. To her attentions to her

husband the country was largely indebted for his usefulness, and by her

influence and example the subordinates, who were attached to the pioneer

army, were made contented and uncomplaining.

This era of Mrs. Taylor’s life she was wont always to speak of with

subdued enthusiasm.

It was while thus living that her children were born. They followed her

fortunes as long as a mother’s care was absolutely necessary for their

safety; but the moment they were sufficiently matured to leave her

protection, she submitted to the painful sacrifice of having them sent

to her relatives in the “settlements,” for a less perilous life and the

enjoyment of the facilities of educational institutions; but she never

thought of abandoning her husband, her first duty being for his interest

and comfort. It is not surprising that when the “Florida war” began,

that the Captain Taylor of twenty years previous was now a Colonel, and

that his past services should have secured for him the difficult and

dangerous honor of taking command against the treacherous Seminoles of

the Everglades. True to the characteristics of his whole life, he

quietly proceeded to this new field of action, and to the surprise of

the country, the people of which now began to know Colonel Taylor, it

was heralded in the papers that Mrs. Taylor had established herself at

Tampa Bay. It was looked upon at the time as a piece of unpardonable

recklessness that she should thus risk her life, when to the outward

world the odds at the time seemed to be against her husband’s success.

But she evidently knew his character and her own duty best, and through

the lasting struggle, made so terrible and romantic by the incidents of

the battle of Okee-Chobee, Mrs. Taylor was of immense service in

superintending the wants of the sick and wounded, but more especially so

by shedding over disaster the hopefulness created by her self-possession

and seeming insensibility to the probability of the failure of her

husband’s final triumph over the enemy.

At the conclusion of active hostilities, the then Secretary of War,

addressing Gen. Jessup, said: “You will establish posts at Tampa, and on

the eastern shore, and wherever else they are in your opinion necessary

to preserve the peace of the country; and I would suggest the propriety

of leaving Col. Zachary Taylor, of the First Infantry, in command of

them.” Agreeably to this order, General Taylor in time of peace repeated

his previously pursued life on the northwestern frontiers, of forming

new military stations in the wilderness and paving the way for the

amelioration of peaceful populations. If he had one thought that he

needed repose, or that his patriotism was overtaxed by such a continued

demand on his time, he had the comforts of a home and a devoted wife

with him, and thus cheered and sustained, he patiently performed his

severe duties; thus the country was indebted to Mrs. Taylor for the

constant services performed by her gallant husband.

In the year 1840, General Taylor, who now had almost become forgotten in

this obscurity of the Florida swamps, asked to be relieved of his

command, and soon afterward arrived with his family in New Orleans. The

“Old Colonel,” as he was called by the citizens of Louisiana, came

unostentatiously, and was permitted, much to his own gratification, to

proceed quietly to Baton Rouge, which place should be for a while, at

least, the head-quarters of his family. With this understanding, Mrs.

Taylor joyfully established herself with surroundings more comfortable

than were afforded in the Florida swamps.

This idea encouraged her to arrange a home which she hoped would be

abandoned only when the “General” had selected some quiet place, where

they would together peacefully end their days.

The barracks at Baton Rouge are picturesquely situated upon the high

land, that here, in a sort of a peninsula, rising out of the surrounding

level, reaches the river. The soldiers usually quartered at Baton Rouge

were mustering along the banks of the Red river, and the buildings were

left, save a single company of infantry, without occupants, and Mrs.

Taylor could select her “quarters” with all the facilities the place

afforded. Leaving the imposing brick buildings, with their comfortable

arrangements for housekeeping, to the entire possession of one or two

officers’ families, Mrs. Taylor selected a little tumble-down cottage,

situated directly on the banks of the river, which was originally

erected for, and inhabited by the Captain-commandant, when the post

belonged to Spain.

In the long years of its existence, the cottage, consisting only of a

suite of three or four rooms, inclosed under galleries, had become

quaint in appearance and much out of repair, and was hardly considered

else than a sort of admitted wreck of former usefulness, left because it

was a harmless, familiar object, entirely out of the way of the lawn and

parade ground. To Mrs. Taylor’s eye, this old cottage seemed to possess

peculiar charms, for she promptly decided to give up the better quarters

at her disposal, as the wife of the Commander-in-Chief of the military

department, and move into this cottage.

With the aid of her own servants, two in number, and the usual

assistance always afforded by invalid soldiers unfit for military

duties, she soon put the neglected place in proper order. It was

remarked by the people of Baton Rouge, how rapidly the old “Spanish

Commandant’s cottage” became transformed into a comfortable dwelling

under the superintendence of the new occupants. And in a country where

so much is left to servants, and where the mistress and daughters had so

many at command, they set the noble example of doing much themselves.

The work employed their minds, and they were happier in the performance

of the details of their well-directed industry. It is certainly true

that Mrs. Taylor and her daughter, Miss Betty, were evidently too much

engaged in managing their household duties to have time for unhappiness

or regrets, if they had cause to indulge in them.

The house had but four rooms, surrounded on all sides by a verandah, and

thus in the hottest weather there was always a shady side, and in the

coldest, one most sheltered; and so cozy and comfortable did the house

become under the management of its new mistress, that Mrs. Taylor was

most thoroughly justified in her choice by the universal commendation of

the citizens of the town—that it was now the pleasantest residence in

all the country round, and its inmates were probably as contented and

happy as people can be.

General Taylor himself was not idle, but was kept busy visiting Fort

Gibson and Fort Smith, until finally, to be near his family, was at his

own request transferred to Fort Jessup, Louisiana. He bought the house

selected by his family, within his military department. The domestic

life of General Taylor’s family was now complete. He had performed

public duties enough his friends thought, to permit him to indulge in

the luxury of being left quietly at the head-quarters of a frontier

department, where he could enjoy repose from severe military duties,

look after his neglected private interests, and for the few years that

remained live a kind of private life. Alas! how the dream was to be

dissipated.

Texas was at this time a State, acting independently of Mexico, yet

unacknowledged as such by the mother country. The Texans, inspired by

the difficulties of their situation, and surrounded by political

influence in the United States, agitated the question of coming into the

Union. The result was that General Santa Anna, then President of Mexico,

made preparations which contemplated the reassertion of the national

government in the revolted province.

This naturally made the southern border line of Louisiana, the Sabine,

an object of attack, and as General Taylor had, with the idea of being

left in peaceful retirement, asked to be in command in Louisiana, he

unconsciously placed himself in the very position that was to call him

into a more active and important field of duty than had yet been

entrusted to him.

Mrs. Taylor, meantime, painfully unconscious of the drama that was

opening before her, calmly and full of content, went about her domestic

duties. A garden was planted, and she cherished the first signs of the

growing vegetation with almost childish delight. Her old friends among

the citizens of the neighborhood made friendly visits. Miss Betty, who

was now in the very perfection of her blooming womanhood, was popular

with the young ladies of her age and station.

The “old General” was here and there, according to his habits; one day

away attending to some military matter, then enjoying what seemed to him

an endless source of interest, the examination of the workings of

plantation life. He began, in fact, to assume the airs of an

agriculturist; invested what means he had in a cotton farm on the

Mississippi, and looked forward to the time when his income would be

large and liberal for the pursuits of peace.

All this time to the south of General Taylor’s military department there

were signs of trouble, and one day he received from the Adjutant-General

of the Army a letter, which announced that there was great danger of a

hostile incursion of Indians on the southern border of his department.

The letter thus concluded: “Should the apprehended hostilities with the

Indians alluded to break out, an officer of rank—probably yourself—will

be sent to command the United States forces to be put in the field.”

The quiet domestic life so much desired by Mrs. Taylor was becoming a

dream. The events which followed so rapidly soon placed her husband on

the banks of the Sabine as commander-in-chief of the “Army of

Occupation.” A succeeding order, and he invaded the disputed territory,

and by one single stride rose from the comparative obscurity of a

frontier fighter to be the observed of all the world, in a conflict

where two Christian nations were to struggle for supremacy in an appeal

to arms. The succeeding actions, that began at Palo Alto and ended at

Buena Vista, made him for the time being a hero. While these events were

culminating, Mrs. Taylor and Miss Betty remained in the little cottage

on the banks of the Mississippi, each hour becoming objects of greater

interest, and from their quietness and unobtrusive life making

themselves dear to the nation.

But the applause and flattery that began to reach the inmates of the old

Spanish cottage made no apparent impression. Mrs. Taylor, while her

husband distinguished himself on the Rio Grande, only worked harder in

her little garden, and she had no superior among the planters of the

vicinity of Baton Rouge in the raising of succulent luxuries for the

table, and she seemingly took more pride in showing these triumphs of

her industry than she did in hearing compliments upon her husband’s

growing fame. Nay, more than this, she instituted a miniature dairy, and

added to her other comforts what was almost unknown at the time in the

vicinity—an abundance of fresh milk and butter. It may be readily

imagined that with such care and supervision the little cottage in the

garrison was illustrative of domestic comfort nowhere else surpassed.

Thus practically Mrs. Taylor taught the young wives of the officers

residing in the barracks their duties, and prepared them by her

excellent example to perform the arduous task imposed upon them as

soldiers’ wives in a manner best calculated to insure their own

happiness and secure honor and renown to their patriotic husbands.

But Mrs. Taylor’s usefulness did not end with the perfect performance of

her household responsibilities. The town of Baton Rouge at this time had

no Protestant Episcopal Church. It was a want which she, in common with

other officers’ wives and some few persons in the village, felt keenly;

and in her quiet, practical way, she set about meeting the demand. It

was, of course, only necessary for her to designate a proper room in the

garrison buildings to be used as a chapel, when it was at once prepared

for that purpose. She superintended with others the labor necessary to

fit up a chapel, then used her influence to secure the occasional

services of a rector who resided at some distance away. Meantime her

expressed wish that “the service” be regularly read was responded to,

and thus was secured to Baton Rouge a commencement of a religious

movement that in a few subsequent years crystallized in the building of

a handsome church, and the establishment of a permanent and intelligent

congregation.

This garrison chapel in time became a place of great interest. Owing to

active hostilities in Mexico the number of officers’ wives increased,

and it included, as may be supposed, some of the most accomplished and

elegant ladies in the land. Their husbands, gallant and noble soldiers,

were involved in the duties of actual war, and they, brave-hearted and

courageous, comforted each other. As the news came that actual collision

was threatened, some of these ladies, unable to control their anxiety

for the safety of their husbands, would be overcome with suppressed

emotion, and grow for the moment wild with terror. It was on these

occasions that Mrs. Taylor and Miss Betty maintained their

self-possession, and had kind words and hopeful suggestions for those

suffering sisters. And when at last some rumors reached Baton Rouge of

battles fought, of blood being shed, of men and officers falling in the

strife; when those heart-stricken wives and daughters of the soldiers

engaged were left to the agony of apprehension, Mrs. Taylor, still

always calm and cheerful, was a constant source of comfort, and shed

around her an atmosphere of hope, an inspiration of true courage. At

last when names were given of those who fell on the fields of Palo Alto

and Resaca de la Palma, the stricken ones of the garrison suppressed

their wild sorrow, lest they should wound the feelings of their superior

in rank and influence, and in the little chapel founded by Mrs. Taylor

sought, through the holy influences of religion, that consolation that

could reconcile them to the irretrievable loss of friends, brothers,

fathers and husbands. There was at this time, amid these scenes of

actual war, a bit of domestic history revived in Mrs. Taylor s mind that

no doubt made a strong impression.

General Taylor was a great admirer of business men, and was opposed to

his daughters marrying officers of the army. He condemned his own life

by saying that soldiers never had a home, and in this sentiment was

cordially sustained by Mrs. Taylor, who no doubt in her heart reviewed

her varied life from place to place on the frontiers, and her constant

separations from her husband, with a regret she could not conceal. It

was this cause that called forth so much opposition from the family to

Lieutenant Jefferson Davis marrying the second daughter, Sarah, which

opposition resulted in an elopement and runaway marriage. General

Taylor, at the time this occurred, was away from home on military

service, and when he heard of it he expressed himself in the most

unmeasured terms of disapprobation. He seemed utterly insensible to the

feelings which inspired the young people in such an adventure, and

persisted in looking upon “young Davis” as having done a dishonorable

thing, and his daughter as being entirely regardless of her filial

obligations. To all protests calculated to lessen his indignation, he

would make the invariable replies, “that no honorable man would thus

defy the wishes of parents, and no truly affectionate daughter be so

regardless of her duty.” General Taylor, though a man of strong

impulses, and possessed of but little training to conceal his feelings,

except what military discipline enforced, was at heart of a generous and

forgiving nature; and no doubt time would have brought about its

softening influences, and the usual ending which follows all runaway

matches would have taken place,—reconciliation and entire forgiveness.

But ere this occurred, within a few short months of her marriage, Mrs.

Davis suddenly died, and a beloved child upon whom he had garnered all

his affections passed forever away, the last words she had from him

being those of reproof and condemnation. This incident and the sudden

death of her daughter left a deep impression upon Mrs. Taylor’s life.

Naturally of a quiet disposition and living from necessity almost

entirely away from influences of society, this sad domestic history was

left to make the greatest possible impression upon her mind. That

General Taylor keenly cherished for long years his sense of sorrow was

destined to be most romantically displayed. His call for volunteer

troops at the time he believed his little army was imperilled, on the

eve of its memorable march from Corpus Christi to the Rio Grande, was

answered promptly by Louisiana and Mississippi. The last-named State

promptly organized a splendid regiment, composed of the very elite of

the native young men, and Jefferson Davis was elected its commander.

At Monterey the 1st Mississippi regiment was stationed at one of the

forts in the suburbs of the city, and in the battle that ended with the

defeat of Ampudia, its Mexican defender, Jefferson Davis received a

slight wound. Before this event, at the time and subsequently, it was

noticed that Colonel Davis and General Taylor had never met, and it was

evident that this was designed and not the result of accident—there was

an understanding seemingly that kept them apart. The cause of this was

freely discussed, and it came to the surface that a reconciliation had

never taken place between General Taylor and Colonel Davis on account of

the elopement, and so things remained until the close of the three days’

struggle that ended in triumph at Buena Vista. It was on the occasion

when victory seemed hesitating where she should bestow her wreath—when

the men of the North and the West had exhausted their energies—when

Clay, Crittenden, Yell, and their brave compatriots slept in death on

the bloody field—at this moment, when Santa Anna believed and announced

himself the hero of the field, and when he concentrated his favorite

troops to make a last charge upon our dispirited and exhausted columns,

that Colonel Davis, at the head of his Mississippi regiment, nobly

sustained the shock, and sent the foe back disappointed and dismayed.

Then it was that “Old Zach,” seeing by whom he, his gallant men, and his

country’s honor, had been saved, had no place in his heart but for

gratitude, and the long estranged embraced each other and wept tears of

reconciliation upon the battle-field.

Time passed on, and General Taylor completed his brilliant campaign. Our

country had then, for nearly two generations, been unused to war, and

the magnificent achievements of old “Rough and Ready” filled the hearts

of the people with the intensest admiration. The old cottage on the low

bluff at Baton Rouge gradually became of classic interest. Grateful

people travelling along the highway of the great Mississippi,

representing every State in the Union, and every civilized nation of the

earth, would admiringly point out General Taylor’s residence. If any of

those great western floating palaces stopped at Baton Rouge, some of the

passengers would climb up the hill and visit the “garrison grounds,” and

the young ladies especially would make the pilgrimage in hopes they

might see Miss Betty, whom they with woman’s quickness of perception,

felt was to be the first lady of the land, by presiding at the White

House.

How much the neatness of that home, its characteristic simplicity, its

quiet domestic comforts, the self-possession and unpretending, yet

lady-like manners of its inmates, impressed themselves on the public,

and prepared the way for that popular affection that greeted General

Taylor on his return from Mexico, and culminated in his triumphant

election to the Presidency, is difficult to decide; but that it had an

element of strength and of vast importance is certain, and presents in a

strong view how much can be done by the devoted, sensible wife, in

aiding her husband in achieving success.

Meantime, General Taylor returned, the triumphant soldier, to the United

States. However wonderful were the subsequent victories achieved over

the Mexicans, in the brilliant march from Vera Cruz to the City of

Aztecs, the novelty of the war when this was enacted, was gone. The

first impressions remained vivid, the subsequent ones were received with

gratification, but not enthusiasm. General Taylor returned, not only a

military hero, but over his head was suspended the wreath of an

approaching civic triumph; and the little cottage on the bank of the

Mississippi that Mrs. Taylor selected for her strictly private

residence, became a Mecca for pilgrims from all lands, and for more than

a year it was the centre of interest, where patriotism, intellect, and

beauty paid homage. In recalling the impressions made upon the public

through the press, it is well remarked what a full share of compliments

were paid to Mrs. Taylor, and how grateful was the task of every one to

praise Miss Betty for her agreeable manners, her hospitality, and her

resemblance to her father in matters of good sense, and the further

possession of all accomplishments that adorn her sex. But this flow of

visitors, this public ovation, this constant bustle about Mrs. Taylor

was submitted to and borne, but never received her indorsement and

sympathy. Her heart was in the possible enjoyment of a quiet household.

She saw nothing attractive in the surroundings of the White House. All

this “worldly glory” defeated her womanly ambition, and her life-long

dream that, at some time or another, “the General” would be relieved of

his public duties, and that together in the retirement of their own

estate, unnoticed and unknown except to their friends, they might

together peacefully end their days; and that the realization of her

modest ambition was due to her, for the separations and wanderings that

had characterized all her early married life.

General Taylor was by habit a public servant, and his future, as shaped

by circumstances, he quietly accepted. But Mrs. Taylor opposed his being

a candidate for the Presidency. She spoke of it as a thing to be

lamented, and declared when such a position was first foreshadowed, that

the General’s acquired habits would not permit him to live under the

constraints of metropolitan life; and to those of her intimate friends

who spoke of his being President, she sadly replied, “That it was a plot

to deprive her of his society, and shorten his life by unnecessary care

and responsibility.” With the announcement that General Taylor was

President-elect, came his resignation as an officer of the army. It was

after all a sad day for him and his family, when he severed a connection

that had lasted so long, and had been made so memorable by a life of

conscientious duty. Miss Betty now appeared on the scene as an agent of

national interest. The White House under Mrs. Polk had been grave and

formal. There was a cold respectability and correctness about it, that

was somewhat oppressive to the citizens of Washington; and there was a

degree of earnest pleasure created in the public mind when it was

understood that as a consequent of General Taylor’s election, there

would preside over the White House a lady eminently attractive in her

personal appearance, young in years, accomplished in mind, and made more

interesting, if possible, by being the bride of Major Bliss, who had

served so faithfully under her father as his accomplished

Adjutant-General.

Elizabeth Taylor, third and youngest daughter of President Taylor, was

twenty-two years of age, when, as Mrs. Bliss, she assumed the formal

duties of Hostess of the White House, her mother, from disinclination,

refusing to accept the responsibility of official receptions. Mrs.

Bliss, or Miss Betty, as she was popularly called, was at this time

admired by all who saw her, and had the distinction of being the

youngest daughter of any chief magistrate who had honored our

Presidential receptions with her presence. Her face was pleasant, her

smiles exceedingly attractive, and her eyes beamed with intelligence.

She had been throughout her life but little with her parents. When not

among her relations in Virginia or Kentucky, she was at some

boarding-school. Her education was completed at Philadelphia, after

which she resided with her parents. No inauguration of any of the later

Presidents was more enthusiastically celebrated than General Taylor’s.

He was at the time the nation’s idol. Everything in his history charmed

the popular mind, and the fact that he was a total stranger to

Washington—that his family were unknown, gave a mystery and novelty to

the whole proceeding quite different from common place precedence.

For this reason, more than ordinary encouragement was given to the

celebration of the occasion by a grand ball. A wooden building of

enormous size was erected, which at the time was considered an “immense

affair.” It was tastefully decorated with flags and other proper

insignia; in the enthusiasm of the hour, many articles were loaned for

its decorations by citizens, who ordinarily took no interest in these

“stated occasions.” The best music that could be obtained was in

attendance, and to give the crowning zest, “Miss Betty” was to be

present. The Lady of the Mansion for the next four years, young,

handsome, and hopeful, was to be presented to the admiring public.

There was the usual crowd and the characteristic confusion; but

nevertheless there pervaded the multitude an intense desire to behold

the new occupant of the White House. There was a “Hero President.” There

was a charming young bride, a young and graceful lady to do the honors

of the public receptions. “At eleven o’clock, General Taylor entered,

leaning on the arms of Major Seaton and Speaker Winthrop.” His fine eye

was bright, his step was elastic, he was brave, he was a conqueror, he

was President, and the gentlemen expressed their feelings in spontaneous

cheers, while ladies waved their handkerchiefs and many wept for

sympathy. A silence ensued, a movement at the head of the room indicated

that a new scene was to be enacted. The throng pressed back, and Mrs.

Bodisco, then the young and handsome wife of the Russian Minister,

enveloped in a cloud of crimson satin and glistening with diamonds,

supported by two ambassadors emblazoned in gold lace and orders, came

forward—just behind were two “Louisiana beauties,” a blonde and a

brunette, whose brilliant charms subsequently divided the gentlemen in

perplexity as to which should be acceded the palm of the belle of the

evening. “Which is Miss Betty?” whispered the throng as these queenly

creatures, by their native charms, without the aid of dress, eclipsed

the more glowing splendor of the Russian court. Then behind these came

“Miss Betty,” plainly dressed in white, a simple flower in her hair,

timid and faltering, yet with an expression in her eye that showed she

was Zachary Taylor’s favorite child. The expectations of the vast crowd

were for the moment realized, and then followed expressions of

enthusiasm that were overwhelming.

The reaction that followed the inauguration in Washington was, as usual,

intense. The season was more than usually warm, and the Congress fled

from the Capital. Mrs. Taylor was never visible in the reception-room;

she received her visitors in her private apartments, and escaped all

observation from choice. Once established in her new home, she selected

such rooms as suited her ideas of housekeeping, and, as far as was

possible, resumed the routine that characterized her life at Baton

Rouge. As was her merit, she attended personally to so much of it as

affected the personal comforts of the General, and it was not long

before the “opposition” found fault with her simple habits, and

attempted, but without effect, to lessen the public esteem felt for

General Taylor, by indulging in offensive personalities.

General Taylor was, from principle and choice, an abstemious man. On the

sixth of July, the dullness of Washington was enlivened by the presence

of Father Mathew, the Apostle of Temperance. To know him, General Taylor

invited him to the White House. The press discussed this honorable

notice of the great philanthropist, and spoke of “Miss Betty” as

presiding at the reception with unusual grace and affability.

The winter following opened officially and fashionably with the

commencement of Congress. There was then in the Senate, Clay, Webster,

Calhoun, Benton, Cass, and lesser but still shining lights. Mr. Fillmore

presided over the body with dignity, and such an array of talent and

statesmanship divided the public mind with the claims of the White

House.

Few official receptions were given. The excitement attending the

admission of California—the fiery eloquence of Mr. Clay—the attack of

Mr. Calhoun or Mr. Benton, and the growls of disappointed

office-seekers, divided the current that might have otherwise flowed on

to the Executive Mansion, and it is apparent that this created no

regrets in the minds of the ladies of the President’s House. It was soon

understood that set, formal, and official dinners were not coveted, and

they were not encouraged. But social and unceremonious visits prevailed

beyond any precedent, and Miss Betty was always ready to dispense the

honors of her exalted position, with a grace and frankness that was

constantly securing for her a wide circle of admiring friends. Thus the

first winter of General Taylor’s term passed away.

To those who were familiar with the actual life of the White House, it

was apparent that a change had gradually taken place in the feelings of

the female inmates. Mrs. Taylor had gradually abandoned much of her

personal superintendence of domestic matters, and Miss Betty had assumed

the manner of one who began to appreciate the importance of her social

elevation. The embarrassments that General Taylor suffered from the

betrayal of “false friends” had the double effect, to make the members

of his family more devoted to each other, and at the same time created a

resolve to more ostentatiously perform the duties of their high social

position. A revolution, political and social, had been resolved upon

without the parties interested being aware of the change. This new era

was inaugurated by the ladies of the President’s House having a

reception on the 4th of March, 1850, in honor of the inauguration. The

affair was of singular brilliancy. It was remarked at the time that the

ladies never appeared to better advantage; the rustling of costly

dresses and the display of diamonds were paramount, while the gentlemen,

for the time being, eschewing the license of Republican institutions,

accepted the laws of good society, and appeared in dress coats and white

kid gloves. General Taylor surprised his friends by the courtliness and

dignity of his manner. Some of his soldiers who saw him in his battles

said there was mischief in his eye. He was evidently attempting a new

rôle, and doing it with success.

Miss Betty, as hostess, was entirely at her ease, and made the ladies by

her affability feel at home in the National Mansion. For the first time,

at the public receptions, she led off in conversation, and her remarks

were full of quiet humor and good sense. The following day, the papers

expressed their admiration in different ways. “Miss Betty” was

complimented with the remark that, in manner and grace at a public

reception, Victoria could not surpass her. General Taylor, it was said,

“had at last determined to open the campaign for the second term, and

those about him, who were intriguing for the succession for others than

for himself, would have to stand aside.” These suspicions were justified

by constantly repeated rumors that Cabinet changes would be made that

would entirely change the character of the general Administration. Mr.

Webster began now to visit the White House, and was treated with marked

consideration by its female inmates. The influence of the ladies of the

White House began to be felt in political circles, and what had been for

the preceding year a negative, now became a positive power. Gentlemen

who had distinguished themselves for the early advocacy of General

Taylor’s election, but who had received no recognition, were now

welcomed to the White House. It was evident that a radical change had

come over its inmates. General Taylor seemed at last to begin to

understand his duties, and knowing them, he commenced their performance

with the same zeal and determination that marked his military career.

Four months of spring and summer passed away. The seventy-fourth

anniversary of our national Fourth of July was approaching. It was

decided that the event should be celebrated by the laying of the

corner-stone of the Washington Monument. General Taylor accepted the

invitation to be present without hesitation, and surprised his friends

at the pleasure he evinced at the opportunity.

The day was unusually warm and oppressive for Washington City. The

procession out to the banks of the Potomac moved slowly, and General

Taylor suffered with the intense heat. Upon taking his seat upon the

stand, he remarked that he had never before experienced such unpleasant

sensations from the sun, much as he had borne its unshielded rays in the

swamps of Florida and Mexico. General Foote was the official orator, and

Washington Parke Custis took part in the proceedings. It was noticed

that General Foote addressed to General Taylor many of his most pointed

remarks in praise of Washington. The papers of the day said that “when

the orator quoted from a letter of Hamilton to Washington, protesting

against his refusing to serve a second term, President Taylor, who sat

on the left of the orator, roused from his listless attitude, as if

desirous of catching every word.” “Perhaps,” added a reporter, “General

Taylor was thinking what would be his conduct in a similar emergency.”

From the celebration the President returned to the White House, and to

relieve himself from the terrible thirst the heat had occasioned, in

accordance with his primitive tastes, he partook freely of cold water

and fruit. In less than an hour he was seized with symptoms of a fearful

sickness. The announcement that the President was prostrated by

indisposition, struck the people of Washington with prophetic terror,

for the news went from house to house, as if presaging the fatal result.

General Taylor, after the first paroxysms were over, seemed to

anticipate that he would never recover. He yielded to the solicitations

of his physicians, and the efforts of his afflicted family to assist

him. On the evening of the third day of his sufferings, he said:

“I should not be surprised if this were to terminate in death. I did not

expect to encounter what has beset me since my elevation to the

Presidency. God knows, I have endeavored to fulfil what I considered to

be an honest duty; but I have been mistaken, my motives have been

misconstrued, and my feelings grossly betrayed.”

Mrs. Taylor, who heard these remarks, for the first time admitted to

herself the possibility of her husband’s death. She then recalled, in

the bitterness of her soul, the remark she made when it was announced to

her that possibly General Taylor would be President:

“It was a plot to deprive her of his society and shorten his life by

unnecessary care and responsibility.” This was indeed about to happen,

and in the agony of that hour she prostrated herself at her husband’s

bedside, while her children clung around her.

The sun, on the morning of the 9th of July, 1850 rose gloriously over

the White House. The President’s family and Colonel Bliss had remained

by his bedside all night, refusing the indulgence of necessary repose.

Each hour it was evident that the catastrophe was nearer. Mrs. Taylor

would not believe that death was possible. He had escaped so many

dangers, had been through so much exposure, he could not die surrounded

with so many comforts and loved so intensely by his family and friends.

The emotions of apprehension were so oppressive, that overtaxed nature

with Mrs. Taylor found relief in fits of insensibility.

At thirty-five minutes past ten P. M., the President called his family

about him, to give them his last earthly advice and bid them his last

good-by. No conventional education could restrain the natural

expressions of grief of the members of this afflicted household, and

their heart-rending cries of agony reached the surrounding street. “I am

about to die,” said the President, firmly, “I expect the summons soon. I

have endeavored to discharge all my official duties faithfully. I regret

nothing, but that I am about to leave my friends.”

Mrs. Taylor and family occupied the White House until the sad ceremonies

of the funeral ended with the removal of the late President’s remains.

The bustle and the pomp was now painful to her sight and ears, and she

realized, in the fearful interval of time, how truly he was dead, who,

though the nation’s successful General and a President, was to her only

a cherished husband. It can easily be imagined that, as the glittering,

heartless display of the Executive Mansion commenced fading away from

her sight, that she must have regretfully turned to the peaceful era of

her last home at Baton Rouge, and the unpretentious cottage, the

neglected garden; and the simple life connected with these associations,

must have appeared as a dream of happiness when contrasted with the

fearful year and a half of sad experiences in Washington. From the time

Mrs. Taylor left the White House, she never alluded to her residence

there, except as connected with the death of her husband.

Accompanied by her daughter, Mrs. Bliss, after leaving Washington, she

first sought a home among her relations in Kentucky, but finding herself

oppressed by personal utterances of sympathy, she retired to the

residence of her only son, near Pascagoula, Louisiana, where, in August,

1852, she died, possessed of the same Christian spirit that marked her

conduct throughout her life. The sudden and lamented death of Major

Bliss soon followed, and without children by her marriage “Miss Betty

Taylor,” as she must ever be known in history, studiously sought the

retirement of private life, and found it in the accomplished circles of

the “old families of Virginia,” with so many of whom she was connected

by ties of blood. By a second marriage, her historical name passed away.

But when the traditions and histories of the White House have the

romance of time thrown around them, Miss Betty Taylor will be recalled

to mind, and for her will there be a sympathy that is associated with

youth, for she was the youngest of the few women of America who have a

right to the title of Hostess of the President’s House.

[Illustration:

MRS. ABIGAIL FILLMORE.

]

XVII.

ABIGAIL FILLMORE.

Abigail Powers, the youngest child of Lemuel Powers, a prominent Baptist

clergyman of that day, was born in Stillwater, Saratoga county, New

York, March, 1798.

Dr. Powers was of Massachusetts descent, being one of the nine thousand

six hundred and twenty-four descendants of Henry Leland, of Sherburne,

and a cousin and life-long friend of the eccentric and talented John

Leland. Though not a wealthy man, he yet possessed a competence, and his

profession was the most honored and respected of all pursuits.

Only a short decade from the martyr memories of New England, and not

entirely removed from the influences of that severely religious section,

he was yet without the sternness and rigor usual to individuals holding

his high office.

He died while yet his daughter was in her infancy, leaving to the care

of a watchful mother her education and training.

Soon afterward, Mrs. Powers, finding that her income would not justify

her in liberality of expenditure, determined to remove with her brother

and several families of relations and friends to a frontier settlement,

and thus, at the early age of ten, we find our little heroine

established in her new home in Cayuga county. Here began the stern

lessons which ultimately educated the pioneer child, and from this point

may be dated the foundation of her noble character, made strong through

discipline and spiritualized through sorrow. She was studious and

ambitious, and with her mother’s assistance, rapidly progressed in

knowledge; her improvement must have been very rapid, for at an early

age she assumed the duties of a teacher, and for many years continued

her chosen avocation. Her mother, after the settlement of her father’s

estate, being greatly reduced in outward circumstances, was compelled to

use the most undeviating industry and economy; and she, feeling the

necessity of relieving her of the burden of her education, began to

teach, during the summer months, to pay her winter’s tuition. Thus,

alternating between teaching and studying, between imparting and

receiving instruction, she became a thorough scholar and remarkable

woman. There are circumstances of poverty which throw an interest around

those involved in them far greater than the noblest gifts of prosperous

fortune could confer. The sight of a young, aspiring woman actuated by

the loftiest, purest desire implanted by nature, overcoming obstacles,

laughing to the winds the remonstrances of weak and timid natures, and

mounting, by patient toil and unceasing labor, the rugged hill of

wisdom—is calculated to dignify humanity and render homage to God.

Man may at once determine his calling and assert his place—woman has

hers to seek, and however resolute she may appear, with all the dignity

she may assume, there are hours of fearful despondency, and moments

when, in the crowded avenues of trade, the craving for solitude and

aloneness absorbs the energies of her nature, and stills the voice of

ambition. Yet the example of this young life is proof that woman’s

dependence is more the result of custom, than the fiat of nature, and

the record of her trials and final success is a testimonial of virtue’s

reward, and energy’s omnipotence.

Varied as were the experiences of Miss Powers’ life, they only served to

develop all the latent strength of her body as well as mind; her

singular embodiment of the physical was not less remarkable than the

depth and research of the intellectual.

Commanding in person, for she was five feet six inches in height, of

exceeding fairness of complexion and delicacy of features, hers was a

harmonious blending of beauty and strength. But she did not possess that

mere superficial beauty which cannot retain if it awakens admiration.

Hers was no statue-like perfection of figure, nor classically

symmetrical face. Genuine kindliness of heart beamed through her light,

expressive eyes, and her brow was the throne of pure and lofty

inspirations. Perhaps, if any one of her features was more universally

admired than the others, it was her light luxuriant hair, which fell in

flowing curls round her finely-shaped head.

Thus particular in describing her personal appearance, a circumstance

never to be omitted in sketches of women, we but recognize these

facts—that the face is the mirror of the soul, and that the law of

unerring nature is, that the exterior is symbolical of the inner being.

In the backwoods of New York State, where the borders of the adjoining

county were the limits of civilization, accustomed only to the society

of the village people, Miss Powers passed the first twenty-eight years

of her apparently uneventful life, but in reality, the intensity of her

moral and affectional nature gave breadth and depth to her every-day

existence, and in the quiet recesses of her heart she lived life over

more than once.

Her occupation as a teacher was continued after her mother’s second

marriage, which occurred about this time, and henceforth her home was in

the family of a much loved relation. It was while in this home that she

first met Mr. Fillmore, then a clothier’s apprentice, and during the

winter months a teacher in the village school.

His father’s unwise choice of a trade for his son but added to his

all-absorbing desire to become a lawyer. But he was not yet twenty, his

time was his parents’, and his poverty compelled him to serve out his

apprenticeship, and, even after he had commenced the study of law, to

desire to return to his trade.

The assistance of a gentleman who became much interested in the

ambitious youth, enabled him to buy his time and devote himself to

study. Thus he overcame the adverse circumstances which denied him

freedom of action, and attained for himself leisure to lay the

foundation of future usefulness.

His subsequent removal to Erie county deprived him of the society of

Miss Powers—his now promised wife, and so limited were his means, that

for three years he was unable to travel a distance of one hundred and

fifty miles to see her.

In February, 1826, they were married at the residence of her brother,

Judge Powers, in Moravia. Erie county was as much a wilderness to the

young wife as Cayuga had been years before, but the obstacles to be

overcome were not considered by the affectionate couple, and they

started out in their married life buoyed by a confidence in their own

strength, and a reliance on a higher power.

Into the small house built by the husband’s hands, the wife carried all

the ambition and activity of other days, and at once resumed her

avocation as a teacher, whilst performing the duties of maid of all

work, housekeeper, and hostess.

Mr. Fillmore was thus enabled to practise his profession, relieved of

all care and responsibility by his thoughtful wife, and so rapid was his

progress that in less than two years he was elected a member of the

State Legislature.

Mrs. Fillmore rendered her husband most efficient help in his struggle

for eminence, and was the wings by which he soared so high. Instead of

clogging his footsteps by her helplessness, she, with her intellectual

strength, relieved and sustained his every effort. So enthusiastic and

unchanging was her attachment to him, that no duty was burdensome, no

privation sufficient to cloud her brow. The struggles those first years

with poverty and increasing cares were trying, but her dignity never

forsook her—her chosen path never became distasteful. Many are noble

from choice, she was so from necessity. The greatness of soul and

devotion to principle inherent in her nature left no other course.

A letter now old and worn, written in her neat style, has been placed in

my hands by a member of that happy household in which she resided so

long. It was addressed to one of the sisters, now dead, and cherished by

another for the reminiscences it recalls of the beautiful attachment

which existed through life between these two friends.

“AURORA, _August 27th, 1826_.

“DEAR MARIA:—Although I have been guilty of breaking my promise to you

of writing, and treated you with neglect and indifference, still you are

dear and near to me, still you are remembered with that affection which

one must feel after being so long an inmate with so kind a girl, one who

has bestowed upon me so many acts of kindness and friendship. No, Maria,

I feel that I can never forget your family. My mind often reverts to the

pleasant hours I have passed at your house. Many friendly conversations

I have had with your mother after the family had retired to rest,—but

those hours are gone never to return, yet the remembrance of them is

sweet. Oh, that I may again have the pleasure of spending a happy

evening in your family with the little children sitting near me, asking

a thousand interesting questions. Perhaps I may see that time next

winter—I hope so.

“Would you like to know how I am pleased with the country? It does not

appear to me as pleasant as Cayuga, but perhaps it may in time. I enjoy

myself as well as I expected to; the inhabitants, as far as I am

acquainted, appear friendly. I am not yet housekeeping, but am teaching

school. But Mr. Dunning will give all these particulars more fully than

I can write on this sheet of paper. You will have a pleasant visit with

his sister Emily; I think her an amiable girl.

“Maria, if you can forgive me for not writing, I hope you will let me

hear from you by the bearer of this. Write me all the news. You cannot

imagine how any little circumstance concerning my friends interests me

when absent so far from them. Ask Olive to write to me if she can find

leisure. My best respects to your parents, and affectionate remembrance

to your brothers and sisters, and believe me your sincere friend and

cousin,

“ABIGAIL FILLMORE.

“Mr. Fillmore wished me to present his respects to yourself and parents.

“To Miss MARIA FULLER.”

In the spring of 1830, Mrs. Fillmore removed with her husband to

Buffalo. In the enjoyment of her children’s society, her husband’s

prosperity, and the pleasure of entertaining her friends, she found

great happiness, and as the years passed by they were noted only for the

peace and contentment they brought her.

As her life previous to this time had been spent in comparative

seclusion, so now it was a scene of gay society. The social element was

very largely developed in her nature, and constant practice rendered it

a marked characteristic. All the associations of her youth had been

those of the country, and in its freshness and beauty, as well as its

drearier garb, she had revelled. Now, in her city home she was the same

artless, warm-hearted woman of other years, basking in the brightness

about her and reflecting upon others her own quiet peace. Well balanced

and self-reliant, affectionate and happy, there was wanting nothing to

complete her character. The domestic harmony of her life can be partly

appreciated from the remark made by her husband after her death. “For

twenty-seven years, my entire married life,” he said, “I was always

greeted with a happy smile.”

The result of such unusual evenness of disposition was owing, in a great

measure, to the tender sympathy and ennobling affection of her husband,

whose ambition was gratified only when he saw that she was content. With

her there was no variation or change, no despondency or doubt as to his

success in any avocation; she hovered round his pathway, a beacon, and

the light never grew dim. True and faithful in all things, at all times,

she ever was; but there was even more of ceaseless vigilance than mere

faith implies, where he was concerned. To him who shielded her in her

sensitiveness and overflowing affectional nature, and, by his gentleness

and unremitting watchfulness, guarded every avenue of her heart from

sorrow, she meted the wealth of her love and fondness—and existed in the

sunshine of his presence. After her husband’s accession to the

Presidency, she went to the White House; but the recent death of a

sister kept her from entering into the gayety of the outer world. As

much as possible she screened herself from public observation, and left

to her daughter the duties devolving upon her. Her health had become

impaired, and she rather shrank from the necessity of appearing before

the world in the position in which she was more than competent to acquit

herself. In such a formal routine of life she did not delight; hers was

a confiding nature, and to her family she always turned for the

happiness the world could not give.

Mr. Fillmore’s friends in New York, soon after he became President,

presented her with a fine carriage and a costly pair of horses. This

carriage was used by the family during their stay in the White House.

After his wife’s death, Mr. Fillmore sold it and invested the proceeds

in a set of plate, which he preferred to the elegant equipage and

horses.

But only by the most exact details, by endless particularities,

breathing out her whole life and giving evidence, by their nature, of

the depths from which they spring; only by such means is it possible, in

a degree, to give some perception of her remarkable life—the fountain

can only be judged of by the channel through which it flows.

She died at Willard’s Hotel, Washington City, on the 30th of March,

1853.

In testimony of respect to the memory of the deceased, the public

offices were closed, both houses of Congress adjourned, and other marks

of respect were adopted. Her remains were conveyed to Buffalo, where, on

the 2d of April, they were laid to rest.

The accompanying letter, written by a well-known lady of Buffalo, who

was much of the time an inmate of the White House during Mrs. Fillmore’s

stay there, is replete with interest, and gives us an insight into the

home-life of this noble woman, we could in no other way obtain.

“The great interest I feel in your undertaking has outweighed my

diffidence and decided me, in accordance with your request, to state

briefly some of my recollections of the habits and social traits of my

late friend, Mrs. Fillmore, with incidents of life at the White House.

“The retiring modesty of manner so inseparable from the idea of a

perfect lady, was eminently characteristic of Mrs. Fillmore. Although

well qualified and, when occasion required, ever ready to act her part

in the position which Providence assigned her, she much preferred the

quiet of domestic life. Her home was pleasant, and while she was a woman

of strong common sense, her tastes were highly refined. Especially was

she fond of music and of flowers. Her love for the former received great

gratification from her daughter’s musical attainments, and her fondness

for flowers amounted to a passion, and much of her time in her own home

was devoted to their culture and care.

“Mrs. Fillmore read much and carefully, and being possessed of excellent

powers of observation, was consequently a well-informed and cultivated

woman. With qualities like these, it is superfluous to say that, when

she was called to preside at the White House, she did it with dignity

and propriety. She was not strong in health, and had suffered much from

a sprained ankle, from which she never fully recovered. Fortunately for

her, the etiquette of Washington did not require the President and his

wife to return visits or to attend parties, though I believe the

President did sometimes dine with a cabinet minister. All the claims of

society were met and attended to by the daughter, and how well she, a

young girl just from school, acquitted herself in this trying position,

all will remember who were fortunate enough to come within the circle of

her happy influence.

“When Mr. Fillmore entered the White House he found it entirely

destitute of books. Mrs. Fillmore was in the habit of spending her

leisure hours in reading, I might almost say in studying. She was

accustomed to be surrounded with books of reference, maps, and all the

other acquirements of a well-furnished library, and she found it

difficult to content herself in a house devoid of such attractions. To

meet this want, Mr. Fillmore asked of Congress and received an

appropriation, and selected a library, devoting to that purpose a large

and pleasant room in the second story of the house. Here Mrs. Fillmore

surrounded herself with her own little home comforts, here her daughter

had her own piano, harp, and guitar, and here Mrs. Fillmore received the

informal visits of the friends she loved, and for her the real pleasure

and enjoyments of the White House were in this room. With strangers she

was dignified, quiet, and rather reserved; but with her friends, she

loved to throw aside all restraint and enjoy a good laugh and indulge in

a little vein of humor, which lay quietly hidden under the calm

exterior.

“Mrs. Fillmore was proud of her husband’s success in life, and desirous

that no reasonable expectations of the public should be disappointed.

She never absented herself from the public receptions, dinners, or

levees when it was possible to be present; but her delicate health

frequently rendered them not only irksome, but very painful, and she

sometimes kept her bed all day to favor that weak ankle, that she might

be able to endure the fatigue of the two hours she would be obliged to

stand for the Friday evening levees.

“The President and Mrs. Fillmore received on Tuesday mornings, from

twelve to two o’clock. The levees were on Friday evenings, from eight

till ten, and at these there was generally a band of music, but no

dancing. Every Thursday evening there was a large dinner party, and

frequently another on Saturdays. Then there were often smaller dinners

in the family dining-room, which were more sociable and agreeable, as

the invitations were usually confined to the personal friends of the

family.

“But what Mrs. Fillmore most enjoyed was to surround herself with a

choice selection of congenial friends in her own favorite room—the

library, where she could enjoy the music she so much loved, and the

conversation of the cultivated society which Washington at that time

certainly afforded. One of these evenings I remember with more than

ordinary pleasure. Mr. Webster was there, and Mr. Corwin, and Mrs. A. H.

H. Stuart, of Virginia, Judge Hall and his wife, and possibly some other

members of the Cabinet; Mr. and Mrs. Brooks, of New York, Miss Derby, of

Boston, then a guest at the White House, Mr. and Mrs. Carroll, and

several others of the distinguished residents of Washington. Mrs.

Brooks’ daughter, then quite too young to appear in general society, was

there by special request of Mrs. Fillmore, who so enjoyed her

wonderfully sweet singing, that she relied upon her as one of the

attractions for this evening. Miss Fillmore played the piano with much

skill and exquisite taste. Indeed, few ladies excelled her in this

accomplishment; and this evening she was particularly successful in her

efforts to please. Mrs. Brooks accompanied her upon the harp, which

instrument she played with much grace. Altogether, the music, the

conversation, and the company made it an occasion long and pleasantly to

be remembered.

“One of the events of Mr. Fillmore’s first winter in the Executive

Mansion was a visit from his father. It was the first time any President

had ever entertained his father in the White House, and Mrs. Fillmore

was very anxious lest some unlooked-for event might prevent this

anticipated pleasure. But he arrived in safety one Monday night. Tuesday

was reception day. The morning papers announced that the venerable

father of the President arrived in town the evening before. There was an

unusual attendance at the reception that day, and it was interesting to

watch each person, as they cast their eyes about the room, unable to

light upon any one who answered to their idea of the ‘venerable father

of the President,’ and when they were presented to him, as he stood

before them, tall and perfectly erect, and with hair but little whiter

than the President’s, there was a general expression of surprise. They

had evidently expected to see an infirm old man, bent with years, and

leaning upon a cane, and Mr. Nathaniel Fillmore, at the age of eighty,

did not answer to that description. Senators and Judges, and Foreign

Ministers came that morning, all anxious to pay their respects to the

President’s father. One gentleman from New York, desirous of drawing him

into conversation, said to him ‘Mr Fillmore, you have been so very

successful in bringing up sons, I wish you would tell me how to raise my

little boy.’ ‘Cradle him in a sap-trough, sir,’ said the old gentleman,

always ready with an answer. That was an interesting reception, to the

President and to all, and when it was over, Mr. Fillmore the elder said

to me, ‘If I had had the power to mark out the path of life for my son,

it would never have led to this place, but I cannot help feeling a kind

of pride in it now that he is here.’

“The routine of life at the White House which came under my observation,

did not vary materially from week to week. The social habits of both Mr.

and Mrs. Fillmore were simple and in accordance with those of well-bred

people everywhere. Without ostentation or arrogance, they maintained the

honor of the high position they were called to occupy, with quiet

dignity and ease.

“I was not in Washington the winter Mrs. Fillmore died, and therefore

know nothing, except from others, of her illness and death, but I know

that she died lamented by all who knew her well, and leaving behind her

many pleasant memories.

“Her death was a terrible blow to her family, and to none more than to

her daughter, a young lady whose beautiful life and sad death, following

so soon upon her return to her own home, made such an indelible

impression upon her friends, and for whom all her native city so justly

mourned.

“The reverence her son had for her memory proves her to have been a

devoted mother, and how tenderly Mr. Fillmore cherished that memory is

shown in the sacredness with which he treasures every memento of her. I

have heard him say that he has carefully preserved every line she ever

wrote him, and that he could never destroy even the little notes she

sent him on business to his office.

“Such affectionate regards from the living speak volumes for the dead.”

Lines on the death of Mrs. Millard Fillmore, by Miss Matilda Stuart, on

the occasion of her burial at Forest Lawn, April 2d, 1853.

Give room, give room, a friend is here,

She comes to tarry with us now—

And though no greeting on her lips,

No light of gladness on her brow,

Yet this is home—that hallowed place

Where she had fondly longed to rest.

Here were her earlier, fresher joys,

Here was the hearth-stone love had blest.

Though she had moved ‘mid stranger scenes,

To share the honor and the strife

Of him whose life was dearer far

Than friend or kindred, home or life—

Though she had tasted pleasure’s cup,

While it was sparkling to the fill,

And seen what few may ever see,

Hope’s brightest dreams grow brighter still;

Yet there were places in her heart

Where love could rest and friendship live.

There was a light within her soul

Which earth could neither take nor give,

And there were accents for her ear,

More winning than the notes of fame,

Where household voices softly breathed

The sweetness of a mother’s name.

And when she heard the other voice

That comes but once, yet comes to all,

Alike to him who longs to go,

And him who dreads to hear the call;

She looked toward her brighter home,

And left life’s garments frail and worn,

As calmly as she laid aside

The robes of honor she had borne.

Now she has come to sleep in peace

Within our grand old forest shades,

And fresher than the spring-time leaves

Are those sweet memories that have come

To steal the bitter tear away,

And bid us look, as she had done,

Beyond the pomp of Time’s brief day.

Around her loved and honored grave

The severed “household band” may come,

And seem to hear those blessed tones

That made the music of their home.

The faded form, the silent shroud,

These, these were all they gave the tomb;

She watches o’er them, while she wears

The freshness of immortal bloom.

NOTE.—President Fillmore died at his residence in Buffalo, March 8th,

1874.

XVIII.

MARY ABIGAIL FILLMORE.

The only daughter of President Fillmore was, during her father’s

administration, in consequence of her mother’s ill-health, the Lady of

the White House, and as such deserves more mention than the limits of

this sketch will allow. She was remarkable for her mental and intensely

affectional nature, and discovered during her brief life only those

traits which served to render her a source of interest and admiration.

As a child, she was precocious; latterly in life, her physical health

was so entirely good that it overcame every tendency to brain

ascendency.

She was well fitted, by education and a long residence in Washington, to

adorn the high station she was destined to fill, and acquitted herself

there, as in every other position, with great dignity and

self-possession.

Her talents were varied, nor was she a dull scholar at anything she

attempted. With the French, German, and Spanish languages, she was

thoroughly conversant; so thorough, indeed, was her mastery of the

former that a French professor declared her accent equal to that of his

own countrymen.

Her taste for sculpture was fostered by association with a loved

schoolmate, the since renowned Harriet Hosmer.

Had her life been spared, she would have become famous through the

exercise of some one of the many talents given her, but in less than a

year after her mothers death she, too, passed away. Her father and

brother were left alone for a few days, that she might go and see her

aged grandparents. From this journey she did not return. A message in

the night-time roused her parent from his slumber to hasten to her, and

though no time was lost, it was too late. She was nearing the golden

gates of the spirit-land, when those two of a once happy band reached

her bedside.

So full of life and health had she been but a few short days before, and

so entirely unconscious of any illness of body, that she anticipated a

visit of great pleasure; after her death, a memorandum of house-work to

be performed while she was absent, was found in her basket, she

expecting to be gone but a few days.

The obituary notices are so complete that I am constrained to quote them

in lieu of my own imperfect material, believing they discover a more

thorough acquaintance with the subject than I can gather through other

sources.

“The character of Miss Mary Abigail Fillmore, daughter of ex-President

Fillmore, whose sudden death was announced yesterday, deserves a more

extended notice. Though young—being but twenty-two years of age on the

27th day of March last—she was widely known.

“Being a native of the city of Buffalo, most of her life had been spent

here, where she had a numerous circle of sincere and devoted friends.

From her early childhood she evinced great talent and industry, combined

with judgment and discretion, and softened by a cheerful and

affectionate disposition, which made her with all a safe and welcome

companion.

“As an only and much beloved daughter, her parents were resolved to give

her an excellent, practical education. As they were unwilling to spare

her from the little family circle, she received much of her primary

education at our excellent public schools, and the higher branches, with

the modern languages, music, drawing, and painting, were taught her by

private tutors. That she might learn, away from home, something of the

world without imbibing its vices, and be taught self-reliance under

judicious restraints, she was sent for a single year to the celebrated

select family school of Mrs. Sedgwick, in Lenox, Massachusetts. She left

that school, feeling the necessity of an education not merely of grace

and ornament, but which should, in case of a reverse of fortune, place

her beyond that degrading and painful feeling of dependence which so

often renders the life of a female in this country one of wretchedness

and misery. She therefore expressed a desire to attend the State Normal

School and qualify herself to be a teacher. This she could not do

without assuming an obligation to teach. To this requirement she readily

submitted and entered the school.

“Graduating at the end of six months with the highest honors, she was

then employed as a teacher in the higher department of one of the public

schools of Buffalo for three months, where she exhibited an aptitude and

capacity for teaching that gave entire satisfaction. But the death of

General Taylor and the consequent elevation of her father to the

Presidency, compelled his family to relinquish their residence here and

remove to Washington. This introduced her into a new sphere of action,

but she moved in it with the same apparent ease and grace that she would

have done had she been bred in the midst of the society of the Federal

city. At the close of her father’s official term, she was destined to

suffer a heart-rending bereavement in the death of her excellent and

devoted mother. She returned with her father and brother to their

desolate home in this city, and by her entire devotion to the duties

thus suddenly devolved upon her, she relieved her father from all

household cares, and exhibited those high domestic and social qualities

which gave a grace and charm, as well as system and regularity, to the

home over which she presided. She again called around her the friends of

her childhood and early youth, for no change of fortune had in the least

impaired her early attachments—attachments which she continued to

cherish with unabated ardor and devotion. The home of her bereaved

father had once more become cheerful and happy, for her whole mind and

heart were given to promote his happiness and that of her only brother,

and they repaid her devotion with the kindest and most grateful

affection.

“She had some weeks since promised a visit to her grandfather, at

Aurora, about seventeen miles from this city. She went from here in the

afternoon of Tuesday last in good spirits and apparent good health, and

she reached Aurora in the evening. She appeared well and cheerful on her

arrival, and after conversing with her grandparents she retired to rest

about nine o’clock.

“She was soon after attacked with what proved to be the cholera; but

unwilling to disturb the family, she called no one until after 12, when

a physician was immediately sent for, but alas! too late. A messenger

was dispatched for her father and brother, but they only arrived to see

her breathe her last, unconscious of their presence. She died about 11

o’clock on Wednesday morning. The effects of this crushing shock upon

her fond and devoted father and her affectionate brother may perhaps be

imagined, but cannot be described.

“Her remains were immediately removed to Buffalo and interred yesterday

in the Forest Lawn Cemetery by the side of her mother. She was followed

to her last resting-place by a numerous concourse of sorrowing friends.

“In the absence of the Rev. Dr. Hosmer, her pastor, the Rev. Dr. Shelton

officiated in the funeral services.”